


Your head lies, full of fire

by SilverSilhouettes



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character Study, Introspection, Other, i'm so excited for ice adolescence hghhh, vitya we love u, why precious bby boy cut his hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 22:45:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17517227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverSilhouettes/pseuds/SilverSilhouettes
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov has always liked being different. It's always what has set him apart from his competition. But the Living Legend is sick of being Viktor Nikiforov. He wants to be just Viktor.





	Your head lies, full of fire

**Author's Note:**

> I started this a long time ago and recently finished it as a warm-up, and then the news about the teaser for Ice Adolescence came out so I thought why not publish this? Title taken from Freak by Lana Del Rey.
> 
> I just adore Viktor and I can't wait to find out more about him and his backstory. I know a lot of people don't like him very much but I'm a Vitya stan for life sorry.
> 
> Enjoy!

When Viktor was seven, he started refusing to get his hair cut. His mother laughed, simply amused by his antics. His father complained he looked like a little girl, but in the end, Viktor was allowed to have his fun.

 

He was nine when the other children started making fun of him. He knew he was strange compared to the others; he was graceful, ethereal, and he took dance and skating lessons. Not many boys his age did that. He took most of the abuse with his head down, eyes locked on his shoes. Viktor just wanted to be different. If he blended in, how could he convince himself he was special in any way? And if he didn’t believe he was special, neither would anyone who watched him perform.

 

At twelve, he made a stunning debut in the men’s junior singles division. His hair was plaited expertly by Lilia, and he had never felt more beautiful. His performance was almost as good as he hoped it could be, and Yakov only frowned a bit when he came off the ice. The other juniors did not agree. Some of them called him faggot with ugly, menacing scowls. Other boys at school pushed him or pulled his hair. He didn’t feel beautiful when he was confronted with bruises all over the next day. 

 

At sixteen, he was heralded the newfound prince of figure skating. Viktor wondered how they could know when he hadn’t competed in the seniors division yet. How could anyone be sure he could make it? So many skaters burned out or couldn’t handle the pressure of seniors. Was he any different? 

He found at at seventeen that he was different. He won gold at his first Olympic Winter Games. Viktor had never felt more shocked, terrified, or alive than in that moment. And then, people decided he was beautiful. They wanted him, wanted to be him, or wanted to use him. He hadn’t felt beautiful when he was fighting for this position, but now that he had it, he liked it even less. People only cared about him for his beauty, fame, and talent. Nothing else. He had become Viktor Nikiforov, Living Legend of figure skating. 

 

At twenty, he called Christophe Giacometti in the middle of the night. 

 

“Aren’t you tired, Chris?” 

 

“Mon chere, isn’t it a bit early to be asking such things?” Chris was obviously confused.

 

“Aren’t you tired of performing for every second of your life? Of hoping that everything you do will be good enough? I’m so tired, Chris.”

 

“Viktor…” Chris hesitated. 

 

“It’s fine.” Viktor sniffed. 

 

“Is it? You don’t sound fine to me.” 

 

“You know what? Don’t worry about me...it’s just something my father said to me once. That’s all.”

 

“If you’re sure.” Chris still sounds like he had just woken up. Viktor feels bad for calling at 3 am, Switzerland time. 

 

“Yeah. Go back to sleep.”

 

“D’accord. Call me if you need me.”

 

Viktor hung up and sat on the kitchen floor in his empty apartment. He shuffled back and leaned against the counter. 

 

Would people take him seriously if he looked more like a man? Sure, he looked feminine and acted that way too, but it was just how he was. There was nothing wrong with that, was there?

 

Viktor remembers his father laughing when he was called a little girl or people mistook him for a woman. It’s a common occurrence, thanks to his waist length hair. 

 

Viktor remembers Yakov looking him up and down when they first met. He’d muttered that they might have to do something about the hair. Lilia had sided with Viktor, and they had managed to convince Yakov to keep it. However, Viktor also remembers his coach trying to teach him how to walk like a man, how to carry himself like a man. He had failed miserably. He remembers the way other skaters and boys his age had mocked him later for the way he walked, the way he talked, the way he crossed his legs when he sat. What was so wrong with that?

 

Maybe people wouldn’t think he was so strange if he quit all the androgyny business. It wasn’t his fault he liked long hair and had a feminine figure. People did think he was purposefully acting feminine, but he wasn’t. It was just him. He had been feeling the pressure for a while now, the pressure to grow up, to be a real man. People were uncomfortable with his image of androgyny and it showed. He was loved by his country, but also despised by it. Those same people who cheered him on at Worlds called him a faggot the next time there were pictures of him with his hair braided or his nails painted circulating in the media. 

 

Viktor was never one to give in to the expectations of others. He loved to surprise, to amaze, to inspire. If he did this, would it really surprise anyone? Everyone had been saying for ages that he needed to grow up. And by cutting his hair, he would seem more mature and masculine. People would be more comfortable with his performances in the senior men’s division if he looked like he belonged. Viktor wasn’t tired of his hair or his faerie-like looks. He was tired of being put down and having less expected of him because he looked different. 

 

Without really thinking it through, he reached for the kitchen shears and held them up to his head. With one swift cut, he sliced off about one quarter of his platinum locks. He saw the hair fall to the ground. He kept cutting until the rest of the long hair was on the floor. His hair now rested just above his shoulders in a choppy cut. It was ugly, and he grimaced in the mirror when he looked. He could get it fixed tomorrow. Tomorrow would be better. 

 

It was always tomorrow that would be better. He would be happier tomorrow. He would be happier if he won another gold medal. He would be happier if he went to the Olympics again. He would be happier if he broke another record. He would be happier if he could surprise his fans even more next season. 

 

Tomorrow was never better. 

  
  
  



End file.
